


Stolen

by Grinner_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	Stolen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincessofTor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessofTor/gifts).



Maybe in another life you could've been something like happy.

You know that you shouldn't believe this.

But you do.

—

This life. 

It is as empty as you often feel these days. 

It is as unfulfilled as all the unused space in this room. A blank wall where a picture frame should've been. A closet that holds a single suit. A bathroom door with a broken handle.

You sit on the edge of the bed, cigarette in hand, fully dressed. He lies naked beneath the sheets. The walls feel like they're closing in on you and still, so much distance remains. Between your bodies. Between the vacuity in your chest and the measured thrum of his heart.

Your cigarette burns down to its filter. Ash falls onto the carpet, onto the polished top of your leather shoe. The room reeks of sweat and sex and cigarette smoke. You breathe in deep. It is as much poison as it is redemption. 

—

His breaths are quiet. He sleeps as elegantly as he looks. No ear grating snores. No drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Just this graceful, silent thing, lying on his side; curled fingers and temporal serenity.

You sit beside him, an ominous figure in the dark. You run your fingers through the inky rivers of his hair. You trace the softness of his cheek, the smooth outline of his jaw, the curve of his chin. 

Your hand makes its way along his body, unhindered. Your gaze follows. His neck. His shoulder. His ribs. His hip. Beneath your touch, he is still. 

You think about kissing him. But you look up and find him looking back at you. He stares at you - intent, focused, possibly curious. You don't know. You've never been much of a mind reader, even when you've fancied yourself an expert at reading _him._

Even in the dark, you discern the pale lilac tinge of his dark brown eyes. Strangely beautiful, like the rest of him still is. 

And you think, beneath all his broken pieces lies a good, good heart. 

Too good, for someone like you.

You think about kissing him. 

So you gently take his hand, uncurl his fingers, press your dry lips upon his pale, bruised knuckles.

Then you rise. In the dark, in your suit of cloth and lies, you are nothing but a shadow. 

You turn your back to him. And you walk out the door.


End file.
